


Consequences of Time: Repercussions

by ballerinaroy



Series: Consequences of Time [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Multi, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: In one moment Hermione was standing with her best friends, their hands interlocked as they performed some highly risky and illegal magic and in the next moment she was gasping for air, eleven, and on the train to Hogwarts. For a third time. The spell fixed, another chance to right their mistakes and now with an agreement to try… but when one of their own is killed, how will the other two cope?This is the third installment in a seven-part series that explores the trio’s relationship with one another and the lengths they will go to in order to save the wizarding world.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Consequences of Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1292882
Comments: 22
Kudos: 106





	Consequences of Time: Repercussions

“Can I help you?” came a sneering voice.

Hermione looked around. Gone was the crisp winter air, their heavy cloaks, the magic cracking around them, replaced with the impossible feeling of falling down an endless pit. She’d forgotten this.

Pansy Parkinson was sitting at the window of the cabin as Hermione peered her head in, trying to find a place to sit. How, in all of their reincarnations, had she never managed to tell Harry and Ron the first person she’d met was none other than Pansy Parkinson?

“Nevermind,” Hermione squeaked.

Pansy looked visibly disgusted and resumed her staring out the window. In their first time around Hermione had joined her briefly, sitting there until Malfoy had shown up, along with his two goons and the four of them had managed to bully her out of her seat, leading her on a path to stumble along with Neville and then for the first time meet the two boys she’d spend the rest of her life with.

Hermione felt a rush of excitement at the thought of them so close to her. The train was pulling from the station and around her, there was a chorus of “Goodbyes” as the train began to gain speed and the people outside the windows disappeared from sight.

“I’m going to-” Hermione began, only to realize that Pansy was not listening but rather looked like she was crying as she placed a hand on the glass, staring back at the train station which was no longer visible.

The door slid shut behind her as she hurried off down the cramped hallway and into the next car. Even though it’d only been minutes since she’d last seen them, last had her hands grasped in theirs, she felt like it had been ages and she itched to be in their presence once more. She was so excited that she’d almost missed the cabin they were sitting in, talking to one another animatedly. Hermione smiled, looking in on them. Harry and Ron were always so happy to see one another. Hermione almost felt jealous sometimes looking at them, how happy they made one another.

She slid open the door and at the sight of her their faces lit up even more. Hermione opened her mouth to say something but found there were no words to properly convey the relief she was feeling and instead began to laugh. Perplexed, they watched her for a moment as she sat down beside Harry and beamed at them.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked of Ron at once.

“Better now that you’re here,” he said at once.

Hermione beamed at him. She turned to Harry who nodded with a wide smile and resumed her giggling.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked of her.

“I’m just relieved,” she said at once. “I didn’t know if it would work a second time.”

She hadn’t meant to reveal her own insecurities about the spell, particularly not to Ron who’d taken a path of reluctance before finally agreeing with Harry despite everything he’d sacrificed. He gave her a knowing smile and shook his head.

“But we’re all alright?” she asked of them both, looking between them worriedly and they gave her reassuring smile.

“We’re fine,” Ron assured her with a lopsided grin.

“We should get started then,” Hermione prompted, ignoring their unconscious groans. “Could I borrow some parchment?”

Ron glanced at the door and then, seeing people’s faces press in, chose to stand in order to fish parchment out of his trunk.

“Borrow,” Ron said teasingly, “What’s the point in marriage if what’s yours isn’t mine and all that?”

“We should have a half hour or so until Malfoy comes,” Harry warned, checking the watch on his wrist.

The tension that had overtaken their last few months together dissipated. There was only the ease that Hermione had always associated with their presence. The ease that had made it easy to slip from friendship into something more…something better.

“A quarter of an hour until the trolly comes,” Ron revised, handing over a quill and ink.

“Do you ever think of anything but food?” Harry teased.

“It’s _candy_ Harry, do you know how hard it’s been to come by?” Ron moaned, “All Percy would ever buy me was Toothflossing Stringmints.”

He made a face that caused both Hermione and Harry to chuckle.

“What respectable person even eats those except to avoid brushing their teeth?” Ron went on, encouraged by their laughter. “Except you, Hermione, but we’ve always known you were odd.”

Childishly, Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and Ron’s eyes sparkled with glee.

“We have to get this down,” Hermione encouraged, “While it’s still fresh in our minds.”

Neither of them were protesting really. Ron had passed out writing materials to them all, Harry already diligently jotting down something related to the snake, Ron his list of suspected Horcruxes. She had to remind herself that despite their appearances, they weren’t the eleven-year-olds that had teased before befriending. Just as dedicated to the mission as she. Just as determined.

“Go on,” Ron prompted when he caught her staring at him. And in an imitating, but not unkind, voice, “ _While it’s still fresh._ ”

A dozen minutes spent ignoring the corridor’s murmurs about a boy with dark hair and a lightning scar, Hermione looked up to find Harry staring at them. Before she could ask, his lips parted and he uttered the words that would haunt her.

“How soon is too soon to get rid of Quirell?”

She didn’t dare look at Ron, couldn’t bear to see an expression of agreement on his face.

She knew his impatience, saw the weight of responsibility thrust upon him. The guilt she herself had not experienced. Yes, Hermione had seen the horrors of war, yes she had watched as one by one those they’d loved had been killed off, and yet she herself had not felt personally responsible

“We need to go further,” Hermione said.

All along she had struggled to put into words her own hesitation, her own reluctance to reset.

Harry’s statement was brushed away in favor of shooting her questioning looks.

“Look, I know, last time the spell messed up, and we were desperate. But what have we learned? I don’t think it’s wise to just keep going back so whatever happens this time, no matter who dies, we go until we’ve actually, properly lost.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

“We can’t keep messing with time. Eventually, it’s going to mess back.”

"Alright," Ron agreed for them both and Harry nodded. "We go further." 

A month into term and Hermione still found herself searching for what was wrong. For being with them, back at Hogwarts where they belonged, was too good to be true. But no matter how many times she glanced at them, at class or in the library or sitting out on the grounds avoiding homework, they were still there, whole… _happy._

“Should we go after the troll?” Ron asked, “For old times sakes?”

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione warned, glancing around the common room, though no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

Ron rolled his eyes at her. “Oh, come on, taking down a troll as first years is impressive.”

“All it was is luck,” Hermione argued, “And what, I’m just supposed to go off crying in the bathroom? Which one of you is going to make a mean comment?”

“You could just have to go to the loo or something,” Ron said grumpily.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “And why would I go all the dungeons to go to the lavatory?”

“I’m just saying, it’d be exciting,” Ron grumbled, turning away from her, “It’s bloody boring doing first year lessons.”

“We warned you,” Harry told him with a grin that was returned after a moment. “We don’t even get to non-verbal spells until sixth year.”

Ron groaned and his eyes rolled into his skull dramatically. “Bloody hell, why’d either of you want to do this a third time?”

“Something about being with the man we loved,” Hermione answered.

“Or something about the world going to hell,” Harry put in and Ron shook his head at them.

“Alright then, if we’re not going to take on a troll then we might as well get down to the feast,” Ron said, making no move to stand up. “At least the food is as good as I remember.”

“Or, we could skip the feast,” Harry said ignoring.

Ron looked as if he’d suggested going to visit Aragog. “You’re joking.”

“And see just what Qurille gets up to when everyone else is looking the other way.” Harry finished grinning deviously.

“We don’t have the cloak,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry’s face fell.

“Honestly, how in Merlin’s name did you survive without me?” Ron said, dropping his voice “We’re _wizards_. Not to mention that Sirius was a pretty damn good teacher. Between him, Lupin and Tonks I could probably pass my NEWT in Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow.”

Hermione glanced at Harry to find he was wearing an equally proud grin.

“We don’t have to miss the feast either,” Ron continued, “He won’t interrupt until halfway through, it’ll be harder to spot us in the crowds.”

“You’re right,” Harry conceded, “It’ll look odd if you aren’t there.”

“Like the two of you never eat,” Ron teased, standing up and looking at them expectantly, “Now, come on then, I’m starving.”

Hermione scarcely dared breathe as Snape’s eyes swept over where they were hiding for a third time as Quirrell hurried down the corridor. He’d looked terrified after their disagreement.

Hermione felt the section of Ron’s robes that she’d been holding tug and she hurried after him. He hadn’t been lying about the quality of his spell work. Where Hermione could make out the faint outline of Harry should the light be right, she’d no idea where Ron was except for their hasty arrangement to hold onto one another so as not to get lost from one another.

She had to nearly jog to keep up with them and wondered who was setting the pace but they finally stopped on the empty sixth floor, ducking into an alcove on a portraitless stretch of wall. 

“Think we’re safe?” Ron asked and Hermione nodded before remembering they couldn’t see her.

“Hang on,” Harry whispered “Muffilito.”

Seconds later he shimmered into view and Hermione and Ron followed suit and they all faced one another in the alcove they’d ducked into.

“Too bad we didn’t have extendable ears,” Ron murmured.

“They won’t be invented for another four years,” Hermione pointed out, though she fully agreed that the device would have been handy rather than trying to press their ears against the door after failing to slip inside the door.

“He wasn’t in there for long,” Harry said. He was already fidgeting with his wand,

“I’m surprised it took him as long as it did,” Ron said, “To get to the stone that is. I mean, he has all year and it takes him until the end?”

“He can’t do it while Dumbledore is here,” Hermione said logically. “Snape proved that tonight.”

“Snape didn’t prove anything,” Harry said darkly.

“Don’t tell me you think him showing up seconds after the door opened was an accident. There has to be some sort of alarm on it,” Hermione argued.

“Then how come we were able to slip in?” Harry said, “With Filtch on our tails never the less?”

It seemed like a century since they’d been first years and they’d stumbled upon the corridor themselves.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted.

“All this proves that Snape was trying to help him,” Harry continued. “He must know that Voldemort’s possessed him.”

“It doesn’t prove that,” Ron disagreed, but didn’t look convinced, “It just proves that Snape’s trying to help him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said, “We’re not concerned with Snape, not yet anyway.”

Harry looked like he wanted to argue but thankfully Ron agreed with her. “We’ve found out what we wanted to anyway, Quirrell doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to get past the obstacles any earlier.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, looking a little upset that they didn’t want to discuss Snape.

“So we should have a nice relaxing term until Hagrid gets Norbert,” Ron said.

“Norberta,” Harry corrected but he was smiling now.

“We should get back to the common room,” Hermione pointed out, “Before anyone notices we’re missing.”

“And there’s a second feast in the common room,” Ron remembered, pulling his wand to disillusion himself. “Great thinking, Hermione.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, reaching out to grasp his robe before he disappeared entirely. “Is all you think about food?”

Hermione hadn’t really wanted to go home to her parents. They were strangers and being in her childhood home felt like trying to wade through a distant memory. She didn’t know if she’d be capable of talking to her parents, relating to them as she’d really only been away for months rather than years. But she’d seen no way out of it and therefore gave reluctant goodbyes to Harry and Ron for the longest stretch of time she’d spend without either of them in ages.

Therefore she was delighted to find them waiting for her on the stone steps, scanning the crowd for her bushy mane. With a wave, she jogged over but as she drew closer she found that Harry and Ron’s eagerness had nothing to do with longing. They wore serious expressions and tugged her away from the crowd of returning students.

“He tried it again,” Ron announced before she even had time to brush the snow from her cloak.

“What?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“Over break,” Ron said hurriedly, “He tried it again.”

Hermione stared at them and then to Harry who wore an equally concerned expression.

She stood there quietly, forcing herself to think back. “Alright, well, he’s still got the problem of Fluffy. We have until Hagrid gets the dragon egg at least.”

“But what will we do once he does?” Harry asked urgently.

“Go to Dumbledore?” Hermione offered. “Or McGonagall.”

Neither seemed rather enthused at the idea.

“We tried that, remember?” Harry asked, looking irritated. “They just brush off my concerns, it doesn’t matter what we have to say.”

“Too bad you can’t just grip his face in the middle of class, Harry,” Ron said offhandedly and Harry brightened for a moment before shrugging off the idea.

And then, came the words that would haunt her. “I don’t know why we bother waiting. What if something were to happen to one of you with the challenges? If we do it now we can at least all be together.”

“We’re not in a rush,” Hermione said in alarm and Harry looked irritated with her. “We can’t just attack a teacher in the middle of the day, even if he does have Voldemort on the back of his head!”

Harry paused and she could tell he was working out a way around it but he at last he relented.

“Fine,” he said, sulking.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

January turned to February with no change in Quirrell’s status. At least twice a week Harry would bring it up again and soon Hermione began to dread lulls in conversation.

“He’s relentless,” Ron moaned to her after a particularly long conversation over dinner. “I don’t see how he thinks he’ll just get away with attacking a teacher.”

“So you agree?” Hermione asked eagerly. “We should wait until the end of the year?”

Ron hesitated. “I don’t know about that long.”

Hermione opened her mouth to launch into the carefully crafted argument she’d been working on. But before she could launch into it, Harry reappeared looking rather pale.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Ron asked at once.

“My head hurts,” he explained, looking ashamed.

“We should goto the infirmary-“

“No,” he snapped, “You don’t understand. It’s not some headache, Hermione it’s him. It’s a sign he’s growing stronger, stronger than before and I can’t just sit idly by and wait for him to get strong enough to attack.”

“But without the stone-“

“The stone doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Stone or no stone he’s getting stronger and we need him weak. We can’t defeat him now. We need time to get more powerful and if we just let this play out that might not happen.”

“Harry-“

“Look what happened last time!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “We waited, we plotted and he got strong enough to kill Mr. Weasley. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

Again Hermione opened her mouth, ready to argue but he was quicker.

“I’m not going to let it happen again!” he snapped.

“What about housepoints?” she asked desperately. “If we want to win the cup-“

“And since when have you cared about house points?” he asked, irritated. “Look, if we do it now they’ll be no need for us to get a load of points because we won’t lose any points because they’ll be no dragon we have to handle.”

“Ron,” she said desperately and they both turned to look at him.

He’d been observing their arguments silently, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked back and forth and said reluctantly. “Harry’s right.”

“Ron,” she said again, having been positive he’d take her side.

“We came back to change things, didn’t we?” he asked of her. “There’s no need to have You-Know-Who hanging about, overhearing things when we can just as easily off him.”

“But it’ll change things,” she said desperately.

“And that’s the point innit?”

She sighed, looking between them both but it was clear that neither would see compromise. “Well, alright. If we’re going to do it then let’s think of a plan.” Harry sighed dramatically and she glared at him and added, “So no one else gets hurt.”

They watched him for a week, covertly, using the cloak to establish his routine. They didn’t dare try any charms against him for fear that he would notice them. At six o’clock the light in his study went on. At a quarter till seven, he would exit his quarters and make his way to the Great Hall where he would eat before almost any students were awake and then would make his way to the library where he would browse the restricted section for an hour and exit with as many books as he could carry.

After classes, he could be seen grading papers into the evening when he would prepare his lessons, eat dinner with the staff and return to his quarters where he would scour the texts he’d borrowed from the library and at promptly ten p.m., the light were extinguished.

His routine was reliable and their observations from the first week copied into the following three. On Tuesday evenings there was a staff meeting. On Thursdays, he held an extra study session which was attended primarily by three fifth-year Ravenclaws who would grill him about the O.W.L.s.

“It’s almost like he knows he’s been watched,” Ron said when Hermione when she went to relieve him so he could go and eat.

“He suspects he is,” Hermione pointed out. “Just not by us.”

Ron stretched his arms above his head and Hermione could hear his joints popping.

“Ron?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you really think this is a good idea? Attacking him now?”

Ron stiffened. “We came back to change things, didn’t we?”

And she couldn’t argue with that.

Harry showed no restraint when it came to defeating Quirrell. Her negations to observe him for three weeks was as much as Harry was willing to compromise in his plan.

“I’m sick of waiting,” Harry exclaimed at least twice a day. “I’m ready for things to start, I can’t stand being so young again.”

His frustration with being so young and helpless was reaching a peak. To some extent, Hermione could understand. Being twelve again didn’t suit her either. When she and Ron didn’t engage with him he stood, a determined look on his face.

“What, now?” Ron asked for her.

“Why not?” Harry argued, his temper evident. “We’ve already established that on Thursday nights-“

“We should get Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione begged, tugging on his arm.

“Hermione,” Harry said, exasperated. “We talked about this-“

“I know,” she said, stopping where she stood. “I know, but just listen to me-“

“If you want to get him, go on,” Harry said irritably, pulling his sleeve from her grasp and resuming his march.

“Harry!”

“I’m tired of my head hurting. I’m tired of knowing precisely where he is and being complacent in him gaining power. I’m doing this now. So-“ he paused, looking at them both desperately. “Are you with me or not?”

They slid into the classroom after the trio of fifth years left. The muttering they’d heard from inside the classroom stopped and Quirrell looked up at them in alarm. For a moment, his true nature flashed across his face but when he recovered from his surprise his hesitant persona was back.

“P-Potter,” he gasped out. “C-can I h-help you?”

He was eyeing all three with suspicion. Hermione pulled closed the door behind them.

“Expelliamus,” Harry said firmly, and with no time to react Quirrell’s wand went flying out of his hand and across the room where Ron caught it.

In the same instant, Hermione warded the room, casting slicing charms on it. Quirrell’s eyes were as wide as Hermione had ever seen them.

“Wh-what’s the m-m-meaning of this?” he stammered, cowering behind his desk.

“I want to talk to him.” Harry said plainly as he marched forward.

“T-t-to who, P-potter?” he said as Harry

“You know who,” Harry said, closing the distance of the classroom.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione hissed, jogging beside him and grabbing his arm.

Again his shrugged her off, continuing his march on their Professor.

“Let me talk to him,” Harry said a final time and when Quirrell froze in shock Harry reached out and touched his hand to Quirrell’s.

Instantly the man shouted out in pain, yanking his hand away and his eyes were wider than ever.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he shouted and for the first time in Hermione’s memory, there was no hesitancy in his tone. “I, I’ll have you expelled for this!”

Harry said nothing, staring hard at Quirrell who’s burned hand was trembling. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, waiting—and then, a third, high voice emanated from Quirrell.

“Let me speak to him….face-to-face….”

Instantly, Quirrell’s expression changed to genuine fear. “Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough…for this…”

His voice sent shivers down Hermione’s spine and she gripped her wand more tightly, watching, in horror, as Quirrell lifted his trembling hands and began to unwind his turban. The story that Harry had told her had never done the moment justice. She watched, transfixed as the turban fell away, making Quirrell look more feeble than ever, and then he turned….

Hermione stumbled several steps back, unable to stop her grasping breath as, for the first time, she came face to face with Voldemort. Her legs felt ready to give out and she glanced, terrified, at Harry only to find him standing strong and staring back into the chalky white face.

“Harry Potter…” the high voice whispered, red eyes examining him closely. “How?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know Riddle.”

The ugly face snarled. “How do you…”

“Know your name?” Harry asked and then repeated, smugly, “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Quirrell stepped from around the desk, walking backward towards Harry. Hermione gripped Harry’s arm to pull him back but he merely shoved her off and she stepped away, repointing her wand at the horrible face.

“I may just be a shadow of my former self….but you’re no match for Lord Voldemort,” the face said, “I have powers you can only dream of…Harry Potter…”

“Funny,” Harry interrupted. “Because from where I’m standing you’re just a ghost of your former self, not even strong enough to have your own body.”

The red eyes narrowed in anger. “This form is only temporary….once I regain a body…”

“It ends here, Riddle,” Harry spat. “Do you really think I’m going to let you walk out of here? Let you bumble along until you get your hands on the Resurrection Stone—yes I know about that—let you regain a body? I’m not letting you win.”

“I don’t need a body to destroy you…” Voldemort snarled. “Quirrell!”

So entranced in watching the face, Hermione had failed to notice how close he’d gotten to them. Having the same idea, Harry and Hermione shouted “Protego!” at the same time, but it did nothing to stop Quirrell’s path. For when he lunged, it wasn’t at them but at Ron and when Harry darted to protect him he bounced back against his own shield.

Hermione watched, in horror, as the struggle ended and the wands were yanked from Ron’s hands. Quirrell stunned him lazily and he crumpled out of sight.

“No!” Hermione screamed, rushing towards him but only got a step before Quirrell, holding two wands in his hand, issued a strong blast of magic, and Hermione was knocked from her feet and her wand soared from her hand and rolled away.

She struggled to raise her head and watched Harry scrambled to his feet, lunging at their Professor who howled out in pain. Hermione rolled over, breathing heavily as she scanned the grounds for any sign of her wand.

Quirrell let out an ear-piercing scream and Hermione’s attention was diverted

Finally, she spotted it. Her wand lay against a turned over desk. She crawled towards it, tears in her eyes as she looked up and found Quirrell had gotten the better of Harry and their intense battle warred on.

Her wand was now just outside of her grasp but before she could lunge towards it, Hermione’s attention was diverted as Quirrell let out an ear-piercing scream, unable to escape from Harry’s grasp as his skin appeared to be burning wherever Harry touched. There was a burst of light, a wave of magic, and where Quirrell had just been standing was merely a pile of torn robes.

“Harry!” she cried as something floated through the air, not quite a ghost, barely there, and it soared through Harry’s chest.

His grin faded from his face and he stumbled backward as the spirt drifted upward and through the ceiling. There was a thundering noise as a large crack appeared in the ceiling and Hermione watched in slow-motion as dust and then chunks of rock began to rain down on them.

“Impedimenta!” she screamed, diving under the desk nearest her, trying to stop the motion

Something hard hit her head….and everything went dark…..

Hermione was lying in the bed in Dumbledore’s home. She felt frozen no matter how many blankets Harry and Ron managed to pile on her. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake as she felt her body battling against something, a battle she seemed to be losing.

She could feel someone sitting beside her,

“Hermione?” Harry asked in a low voice. She struggled to open her eyes but they remained stubbornly shut.

There was tension in the air as he waited

“It was meant for me,” he said in a chocked voice. “The curse.”

Hermione strained to reply, to assure him that he’d done nothing wrong but her body wouldn’t cooperate and the lull of unconsciousness was pulling at her.

“I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t mean to—“ his voice trembled. “I’m sorry.”

“I just. Please don’t die. I need you, I can’t do this without you. Ron and I, we’re not enough, not without you and I—I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, don’t give in. Please keep fighting. We need you.”

Everything ached. Her limbs, her chest, her brain. Her usually sharp mind felt hazy and she struggled to pull herself to consciousness. _Something was wrong,_ her brain screamed, _something is very wrong._

Hermione forced her eyes open and was met with the warm light from a lamp just on the other side of a curtain. There was the soft mummer of voices echoing in the room. Unable to make out what they were saying, Hermione sat up, staring at the white curtains surrounding her bed. The hospital wing, she decided, looking down at the unfamiliar dressing gown she was now donning. The night came back to her in bits and pieces. Harry, marching into the classroom, Voldemort’s horrible face, the high voice, Ron knocked out of sight….Harry wrestling with Quirrell as he screamed….rocks tumbling down as the classroom ceiling collapsed.

Gingerly Hermione got to her feet, still feeling rather sore all over and peeked out a gap in the curtains around her bed. The doors to the hospital wing were shut firmly and Dumbledore was gathered with a group of ministry wizards around another curtained bed. They were speaking in fast, accusing tones.

“What about his family?” Hermione caught as she peeked out of the curtains surrounding her own bed.

In the bed beside her’s Ron lay on his side, facing her. His eyes were open and when he caught her eyes he pushed a finger to his own lips indicating she should be quiet.

“All he has is an Aunt and Uncle,” Dumbledore answered.

So it was Harry they were talking about. Hermione tried to peek more, pushing the curtain aside slowly but the ones around Harry’s bed were shut tightly.

“And have they been contacted?” asked another serious-looking man and Dumbledore nodded. “Well? When are they arriving? I want to get ahead of this Albus. The last thing we need is another suit against the school.”

“They have no intention of pressing charges,” Dumbledore answered, sounding distressed. “They seemed rather happy to rid themselves of their responsibility of young Mr. Potter.”

Confused, Hermione looked down at Ron who had his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Do we know what happened?” asked another, taller witch who was jotting down notes into a notebook. “What about the other two?”

“We won’t know the full story until the other two wake,” Dumbledore answered, looking back over to Ron and Hermione’s beds. “I daresay this chatter will be waking them sooner. Let’s take this to my office.”

The others murmured their consent and, seeming all too glad to exit, followed Dumbledore out of the room without a word of protest. Hermione found it odd that they wouldn’t have even checked to see if she and Ron were awake but was rather glad to be given the opportunity for the three of them to talk and get their stories straight before they were interrogated about the events which had transpired.

The door shut with a soft thud and Hermione hurried out of the curtains to Ron who had sat up in his bed. She threw her arms around him in relief, checking him over quickly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked of him with a relieved smile which he did not return.

“Hermione-“ he said softly, a heavy look in his eyes Hermione did not understand.

“Is Harry up?” she asked of him instantly, wanting to know what had happened after the ceiling had collapsed. Bits and pieces still floated to her but the scenes from the battle made no sense to her still waking mind.

Ron’s face fell farther if possible and he opened his mouth to say something, tears shining in his eyes. Finding his response peculiar, Hermione eyed him carefully, walking around his bed and over to the tightly shut curtains were Harry lay.

“Hermione!” Ron called out in surprise, standing up and following her with a slight hobble. “Don’t-“

“Don’t what?” Hermione asked, glancing around the room which was empty except for the three of them. “Why are you acting so odd?”

It was his turn to look at her in a confused manner. “Hermione,” he said softly. “Don’t you remember?”

Hermione felt as though there was something important she was missing, a thought at the back of her head which seemed just out of reach.

“Last I remember was Quirrell’s spell rebounding and the rocks falling.” She answered carefully, thinking back. This clearly wasn’t the response he’d been asking for as his face fell more. “Ron?” she asked carefully. “What’s going on?”

He seemed unable to speak, tears now flowing from his eyes. Anxiety washed over Hermione as she turned back to the bed. She remembered the rocks falling, her spell protecting them-only had it? Harry had been petrified and he had disappeared behind the rubble. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry and she rushed forward, throwing back the curtains around Harry’s bed. He wasn’t, he couldn’t be—

Before her, Harry lay stiffly, his skin void of color and his lips blue.

“Hermione!” Ron called again, rushing forward and pulling her back as if not seeing it would erase the image from her mind.

It didn’t change anything. No matter if she was looking or not in the bed beside her lay her best friend, un-breathing with his chest caved in from the rocks which had fallen. Harry Potter was dead.

She was aware of a howling as she collapsed in Ron’s arms, falling to the ground of the hospital wing. From outside the hospital wing doors, there was a bustling and then a dozen wizards bust in, brandishing their wands in front of them. She wanted to wake up, _she had to wake up_.

Ron’s arms stayed tightly around her as they were placed back into the bed she’d risen from. A potion was slipped past her lips and she willed the person screaming to stop. But they didn’t and she sobbed, tears falling freely down her cheeks. It wasn’t until she was almost asleep she realized the person howling was her own voice. In the next second, she was whisked from consciousness by a dreamless sleep potion.


End file.
